


The perils of being a sort-of criminal

by FantasyFailures



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur has a big massive crush on Merlin, Good Morgana (Merlin), Hurt Merlin (Merlin), M/M, Merlin has a big massive crush on Arthur, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), They're both big massive cowards who can't confront their feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:55:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25739947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasyFailures/pseuds/FantasyFailures
Summary: Based on a prompt from the tumblr account 'writing-prompt-s':'Humans start out at birth with milk white blood. The more crimes they commit, the darker their blood becomes. One day you meet your soulmate. Skip a few years, and things are amazing... until your soulmate trips, falls, and exposes black blood'.Merlin really wishes he wasn't so clumsy. He wishes even more that Arthur would stop being so nosy about Merlin's injuries. Arthur was beginning to feel more like a mother than anything else, despite his general... prat-ishness. Either way, Merlin is getting pretty tired of having to hide the coal-black blood he keeps spilling, and when you think about it, this whole mess is Uther's fault.Oh, and, if Arthur could quit getting so close to Merlin every time he's hurt, that'd be great too-his heart can only beat so fast, after all.(Not a soulmate AU)
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 202





	The perils of being a sort-of criminal

Merlin wasn't a violent person.

Really, he wasn't. If anything, he was absolutely _against_ violence. Partially because his life would be a breeze if would-be assassins would quit trying to murder the Once and Future King, but mostly because he always felt a sickening twist of guilt seeing someone be hurt or injured. Arthur would probably say that it makes him a girl, but Merlin prefers to think of himself as a pacifist trapped in a warriors destiny. That said...

Merlin was _this_ close to setting Uther's bed on fire while he sleeps. Not to point fingers, but this entire mess was his fault. If magic hadn't have been made illegal, this whole problem would never have come to be. Merlin had the blood of a hardened criminal before he could use the chamberpot without his mothers help, so do forgive him if he sounds a little bitter. He'd probably be less bitter if Arthur would _stop snooping on his blood_. At least, that's what it felt like Arthur was doing. Every time something broke or Merlin tripped over an invisible obstacle, Arthur was right there, poking and prodding at Merlin and examining him thoroughly enough to put Gaius out of business. And honestly, Merlin was getting rather frustrated with the idiot. The stupid, over-bearing, stuck up, _fat-_

"Merlin, if you don't quit daydreaming, I'll leave you in the stocks overnight'.

Speak of the devil. Or, well, think of the prat, but that doesn't have the same ring to it.

"Of course, sire, wouldn't want you to miss me too much, after all," Merlin quipped, resuming his efforts to darn the gaping hole in Arthur's sock. He hated darning. It was luckily not something he needed to do too often-Arthur wasn't careless enough to rip through his socks _that_ quickly, but Merlin still ended up with a darning needle in his hand more often than he'd like. He could never get it to look quite right, and whatever unfortunate fabric he had been left with would usually end up looking somewhat lumpy and misshapen. The only real plus side to the taxing task was that Arthur would usually let Merlin stay in his chambers while he did it; sitting at the table surrounded by socks and yarn, listening to Arthur's soft, even breathing while he looked over paperwork and read whatever correspondence had been dumped on his desk that day. They'd trade insults, occasionally, or Arthur would mutter his distaste for certain nobles under his breath, but they mostly sat in an easy, comfortable silence. The gentle crackling of the fire, the faint rustling of Arthur's thick parchment, even the sound of distant footsteps on stone out in the corridors all made Merlin feel, well, sleepy. Peaceful, even. On nights like these, he could almost forget that the weight of the world seemed to rest on his shoulders.

"Mer _lin,_ " Arthur called, the suddenness of it nearly making Merlin jump out of his skin. As it was, He jolted a little in his seat, the darning needle slipping through the yarn and into his finger. At his surprised gasp, Arthur looked up from his papers, brow furrowed and eyes all too observant.

"Merlin? What, seen a spider, have you?" His tone was light, despite his concern, and he kept his stare firmly on his manservant. Well, the back of him, seeing as Merlin still hadn't turned around. Honestly, the sheer insolence of the boy would probably have his father frothing at the mouth.

"Spider. Yes. Big, fat, hairy one. Not unlike you, really."

Merlin glared at the little dribble of black blood running down his finger, as though it had deliberately left the wound just to spite him. Still, he could just shove the finger in his mouth for a few seconds and the issue would resolve itself, he'd had papercuts that had bled more than this. It wasn't like Arthur would notice, he certainly never had before, though certainly not for a lack of trying. Just last week, Merlin had scraped his elbow on the rough flagstone on the outer castle walls, and he barely had time to swipe away the little dots of black blood before Arthur was inspecting his arm. You'd have thought Merlin had been skewered with a spear by the way Arthur shot to his side, cradling his arm as if it was snapped in half.

Arthur didn't need to worry about _his_ blood, at least. His was still pale, almost-white, with just the faintest tint of pink visible if you saw it in the light. Merlin knew Arthur had broken the law before, of course, he didn't need to see his blood to know that. He'd been there when Arthur had smuggled the druid boy out of Camelot, had seen Arthur raise a sword against his own father after Morgause had gotten to him. Still, seeing Arthur's wounds ooze white always made Merlin feel, oddly, proud. Arthur had managed to be a good person-or, okay, _mostly_ good, without staining his blood scarlet, or worse, the same deep ebony that tainted Merlin's.

Morgana, for example, would bleed red. A pale red, but distinctly red nonetheless. He'd heard Uther joke half-heartedly, saying she'd always been a trouble maker as a child, that stealing all those buns from the kitchens had caught up to her, but Merlin thought his eyes were always a little too cold for his heart to be in it. Once, when Morgana caught a hangnail at the dinner table, a little pool of red forming at the side of her nail, Uther seemed entranced, his gaze distant and... _sad_. Disappointed, maybe, but he snapped out of it before Merlin could place the emotion there. Morgana hadn't noticed, daintily running a napkin over the blood, marring the cloth with little red smears. 

Merlin was good at keeping secrets. Great, even. He'd hidden his blood for this long, despite his ridiculous affinity for getting himself hit, cut, scraped, and/or bashed. He'd keep his blood hidden until the end of time, if need be. 

I mean, _really_ , what's the worst that could happen?

**Author's Note:**

> Hope nobody can tell that I have never darned in my life.  
> Quick first chapter to introduce the concept. Thanks for reading it!


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